


foolish

by benwvatt



Series: light and breezy? yeah, right [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11321148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benwvatt/pseuds/benwvatt
Summary: Yeah, they’re foolish; they fight and they fall, but they always apologize and make up 一 in more ways than one.In which Jake Peralta happens to move in with Amy Santiago, and these short stories document their (sex) lives.





	foolish

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be so domestic?? what happened??

After growing up with a father and seven older brothers, Amy Santiago didn’t think she would ever voluntarily live with a boy again. She still shudders at the thought of racing for the shower at six in the morning, banging on the door in desperation, and having to share a room with two or three guys.

This all changes when Jake Peralta moves in with her. At this point, they’ve been together for more than a year, and are still foolishly in love. Amy says foolishly instead of _madly_ because she doesn’t want to sound cliché, and she prefers her foolish love over any feeling she’s ever experienced.

Yeah, they’re foolish; they fight and they fall, but they always apologize and make up 一 in more ways than one. It’s all good.

On moving day, Jake arrives at Amy’s apartment carrying two cardboard boxes of clothes. There’s a silly grin on his face as he drops off his belongings and rushes downstairs to get more, reaching for Amy’s hand before she excuses herself for a minute.

Amy feels butterflies in her stomach all over again. She’s dreamed and planned her whole life of being in love, but this is nicer than she ever predicted. After the initial moment of fluttery happiness, Amy rushes to catch the elevator. She assumes Jake might be on his way up now, but finds him hurriedly pressing the ‘open’ button.

 _“Thanks, “_ Amy says, pressing a kiss to Jake’s cheek. She knows this self-sabotage is a bad habit of his, but she can’t help but love it. Nudging her hand against his, they link fingers and walk out of the building to the moving van.

“It’s really nobody’s fault that everyone’s too exhausted to be here,” Jake murmurs.

“You sure about that?” Amy smirks, estimating the Nine-Nine’s still tired from helping Jake pack his apartment up.

 _“Fine,”_ Jake concedes, bending down to pick up a coffee table. “I _may_ have asked the squad to help me move.”

“There we go,” Amy answers, taking the other end of the table. “Come on, the faster we move your stuff into our apartment, the faster we can eat. I skipped lunch.”

“Ames,” Jake groans. “You can’t just _not_ eat. Go eat lunch, I’ll unpack by myself ‘til you’re done.”

“Okay, but let’s take the table while we head up.”

“Deal,” Jake negotiates, and up they go.

* * *

“A little to the left, babe,” Amy instructs. “Okay, now a smidge to the right. And … perfect!”

Jake rolls the sleeves of his flannel shirt up again. “Is it just me, or is the painting crooked?”

“Which painting?”

“The Degas, second from the left.” Jake squints at the painted dancers and tilts his head. Two years ago, he wouldn’t have thought he would know how to _pronounce_ Degas, much less keep a classical painting in his apartment.

“Looks fine to me,” Amy answers. She holds her hands up, thumbs and pointer fingers framing the Degas. “You should just wear your glasses more.”

“I’m just afraid of losing them!”

“I’ll help you look,” Amy huffs. “Please, just _wear_ the glasses.”

“I will, babe. Keep me accountable.”

“I always do.”

* * *

Living with Jake isn’t half bad, Amy notes, a month after he moves in. Jake isn’t the best with neatness 一 no surprise 一 but he’s working on it. Everyday, jackets transition from their stationary position on the sofa to the closet (halved, with Amy’s clothes on the left and Jake’s on the right.)

Jake brushes up on his cooking skills while he gives Amy lessons (“honey, salt and sugar aren’t interchangeable! just taste a little!”). Amy rolls her eyes until she tastes his banana bread, and then she dutifully learns from him. Years of growing up under a single mother, combined with a need to eat more than mayo-nut spoonsies, led Jake to pursue cuisine. He isn’t perfect, but he tries his hardest.

After Amy gets back from a long shift, Jake cooks her a homemade dinner, and she makes out with him up against the refrigerator door. His hands are in her hair, even tugging a little, and they stumble off toward the bedroom in a lovesick haze. The door slams as they fall into bed, one after the other.

Jake and Amy end up having to reheat the spaghetti and meatballs, but that’s no problem. While they dine, they can’t quite get the scene from _Lady and the Tramp_ correct, but they’re close enough.

* * *

**(this is angst. very minor trigger warnings for panic attacks? it’s basically discussion of fear and abandonment, not any actual panic attacks.)**

Jake wonders if he can have jet lag, although he hasn’t left Brooklyn in months.

He’s been gone six days for a stakeout with Charles (if you can call it that, since it was all a blur.) They pulled night shifts, counting down the seconds until they could fall asleep, and downing five-hour energies in hopes that just one would work.

Great. Just great.

Running back over the events of the last week, Jake recalls the details of the case. They were tracking a suspect in a murder, and there was something about searching for digital fingerprints. The police assumed coercion and digital blackmail (was it one, was it the other, was it both?) and hopelessly tried tracking a man on the run.

After Charles finally succumbed and called the relief team, because there was _no way_ they’d catch the mastermind, he and Jake slept in the car until work beckoned.

It was four in the morning, for fuck’s sake, and Jake wasn’t about to wake Amy to climb into their bed for a few hours.

That’s how he showed up to the precinct at 9 A.M., in two-day-old clothes with the messiest hair imaginable. Jake can feel the exhaustion weighing him down. His eyelids are heavy, and his back hurts from sleeping in the passenger seat of a Prius. 

He’s endlessly glad to see Amy’s face, until 一

“Jake Peralta! What were you _thinking?”_

He really, _really_ wants to engage in this argument with his girlfriend, except his brain feels like it’s on its last legs and the lights in the station are hurting his eyes. “What?”

“You were gone for _six_ days!” Amy exclaims, livid with fear; she’s shaking, he notes, and paler than usual. “I got, what, one phone call and three texts?”

“Babe, I’m really sorry-”

“I didn’t _know_ what’d happened to you!” Amy interrupts, her breathing is rapid.

“I was trying to keep us safe.”

“You can’t just _do this_ to me,” she says in between sobs. “You told me you were going and then you just, you just … you just _left.”_

“Amy, I really tried to contact you, but the guy we were dealing with was involved in spyware, and I didn’t want to lead him to you,” Jake attempts. “I was just looking out for you.”

He hates it when Amy cries; it makes him tear up, too, as if it’s contagious or something. His voice is already breaking, and he’s so _fucking_ tired, it’s ridiculous.

They’re in the briefing room, red-faced, while everyone else shies away from their fight. When he and Amy stop to just take a breath, the atmosphere outside is eerily calm.

“I’m really sorry,” Jake tries again. He’s pretty sure he’s crying by now. He knows the relief team knows what they’re doing, but he was just so _scared_ to get anyone else involved. They went in, head-first, thinking they could catch the guy and put an end to his crime.

Amy rushes forward, burying her head in Jake’s chest and inhaling his scent. “I know I’m being paranoid, babe. I just hate being apart from you for _so long,_ and the stakes were so high, I 一 I thought you were gone.”

Jake strokes her hair, deciding not to say anything. Amy is clearly panicked, and he’s going to give her time.

“And then, then I had the second thought,” Amy gulps. “I wondered if you were okay and you were just _ignoring_ me, like I was being too clingy, and then I wondered which one I’d hate more.”

“Amy …”

“I hated that,” she admits. “I thought, if you were in danger, then you wouldn’t be ignoring me, but I didn’t want that either. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Jake only holds Amy closer. She’s still shaking, and her heart is still racing from the panic. “Let’s go home, love.”

He can feel Amy nod on his shoulder.

“I can probably get today off, since I was on the stakeout, and I don’t think you’re in any shape to work right now,” Jake resolves.

“Why’d you come, anyway?” Amy asks.

“Wanted to see you,” he replies, gently releasing from the pull of Amy’s arms. “And I’ll work on contacting you more when I’m working. I know you get anxious when I don’t reply to your regular texts, but it’s just a lot harder on stakeouts.”

After getting Holt’s permission, Jake and Amy depart for their apartment. They take a taxi, seeing as they’re both exhausted, and collapse into bed together.

“Why is my shirt here?” Jake asks, frowning.

“I slept with it while you were gone,” Amy answers, red-faced. Jake laughs and says she’s cute when she’s domestic.

They spend half the day sleeping together (yes, literally sleeping.) For once, Amy’s the little spoon, her back pressed against Jake’s chest. After a couple hours, Jake takes a shower to get the smell of old coffee and cheap motels off of him. Seeing as it’s been a week, Amy follows him in.

They end up needing another shower.

* * *

“Surprise!” Amy shouts, and Jake doesn’t exactly know how to feel.

It’s Halloween, and she’s wearing a costume despite all her objections the year before.

“So that’s where my leather jacket went,” he quietly quips. “You took it from our closet.”

Amy Santiago is dressed as Jake Peralta this year. Her hair is down, her pantsuit exchanged for a plaid shirt, leather jacket, and slacks. The police badge is strung around her neck on a silver chain. “What? Don’t you like it?”

“I do,” Jake replies, uncomfortable as can be.

“No, you don’t,” Amy says. “If you want, I can just change clothes. What’s your problem?”

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he mutters.

“That’s the point.” Amy lifts an eyebrow, wondering if she’s stumbled upon yet another one of Jake’s superstitions or pet peeves. “Do you not like it? It was just a joke, but I could take them off if you want …”

“Stop, uh, stop offering to take them off,” Jake mumbles.

“Are you okay?” Amy leans over to feel his forehead. “You look flushed. Do you feel feverish?”

“No,” Jake blurts right away. “I’m not sick. Just keep the clothes on and do your own thing.”

He simply turns his swivel chair away and ignores her. Amy rolls her eyes and storms off. “Thanks a lot, Peralta.”

Jake doesn’t get up for the rest of the morning. He barely says a word to anyone, only filling out paperwork and calling people to stop by his desk. Amy _would_ say something, but she isn’t in the mood to fight. It’s her least favorite holiday (least favorite day of the year, really) and she was just trying to do something nice.

It backfired, and now her boyfriend won’t even look her in the eyes.

Amy’s always shivering, but the leather jacket’s so warm she ends up taking it off and resting it on her chair. Jake turns as soon as she does.

“Santiago, can I talk with you in the evidence lockup? It’s about the Flynn case.”

Jake hops up from his chair, grabbing his jacket from Amy’s desk and carrying it as he walks.

“What is your _problem?”_ Amy demands, as soon as they’re inside.

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Amy hesitantly asks.

“No! Never,” Jake says, as quickly as he can. He’s now flustered, his ears reddening by the minute. “Oh, that came out wrong. Sorry. I have to explain.”

“Go ahead.”

“You look good in my clothes,” he begins. “Like, _really_ good. And, you know, you left so early I didn’t see you this morning, and I hate seeing you all day without being able to do a thing about it. It’s not fair.”

“Oh, my god,” Amy says. “You’re turned on by this.”

“Yes?”

“So _that’s_ why you wouldn’t leave your desk this morning,” Amy realizes. “And you got all flustered when I said I could change clothes because …”

“Because I was picturing it,” Jake guiltily answers. “I can’t help it!”

“So, is it just the leather jacket?”

Jake’s face flames. “Don’t ask me that!”

“Talking about this stuff is healthy,” Amy insists. She’s blushing now, a grin alight on her face. “So, is it just the jacket, or just the badge, or just the plaid shirt? Or, like, a mix of two of them? Or do you find all three hot?”

“Jacket and the badge,” Jake says under his breath.

“What’s that?”

 _“Jacket and the badge,”_ Jake enunciates. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“I really didn’t hear you the first time,” Amy replies. “Love, you don’t have to be embarrassed. Openly talking about our kinks is a good thing!”

“Fine,” Jake retorts. “What’s one of yours?”

“You already know mine!” Amy protests.

“One that you’ve never told me,” Jake haughtily responds.

“Okay, um … I like teasing,” she says.

“Be more specific, do you like _being_ teased or being the one in control?”

“Both.”

Jake turns toward Amy for a soft kiss. “Sorry I overreacted. I just felt weird about everything.”

“That’s okay!” Amy encourages. “I’ve felt the same way.”

“No, babe, I felt weird because you gave me a boner and I couldn’t leave my desk.”

“Sorry,” Amy says, “but we could … go further off of that?”

Jake raises an eyebrow. “Go further?”

“Okay, I tease you until we get off of work.”

“Not bad.”

“And then we go home and I have sex with you, wearing nothing but your jacket and badge.”

Jake pauses for a second, faintly looking into the distance. Pain and pleasure are clear on his face. “Christ, Santiago, you have _got_ to stop turning me on at the Nine-Nine.”

“We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Amy blurts. “Really, if it’s uncomfortable for you, we can call the whole thing off.”

“No, I want to do it,” Jake affirms. “I’d probably be hard for the rest of the day even _if_ we didn’t have this deal.”

“Safe word?”

“Uh, we can just go with red-yellow-green again.”

“Alright,” Amy coolly says, taking the jacket from Jake and swinging it over her shoulder. “Game, set, match. Remember the precinct’s staying open late to deal with Halloween crime.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Jake curses.

“Love you too, babe. You sure you still want this?”

“Positive.”

That night, Jake Peralta has the best sex of his life. It comes at a cost, of course, with Amy dropping by his desk and whispering in his ear every half hour. At one point, Jake doesn’t think he can last until work’s over. He mutters ‘yellow’ under his breath, Amy eases up, and they _finally_ make out in the car on the way home.

For once, Amy doesn’t complain when Jake hurriedly brushes all the papers off of the kitchen table. She hits the surface with a _thud,_ still wearing the leather jacket, and Jake keeps kissing her.

* * *

“Hey, wake up,” Amy nudges.

Jake doesn’t budge, continuing to writhe in bed. Amy frowns; Jake usually talks in his sleep, but he’s wordless, only groaning. With one swift shove, Amy pushes Jake hard enough to wake up.

He sits up in bed, hair a mess. “I was dreaming!”

“You were tossing and turning,” Amy says. “Plus, I figured you were having a bad dream.”

She leans over, kissing him, and smooths the blankets twisted around their bodies.

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he pouts.

“Then what kind of dream _was_ it?” Amy asks, raising an eyebrow. “You usually say stuff, but you were just … sort of whimpering and moaning. Like, loudly.”

“Guess,” Jake murmurs, blushing and pulling more covers toward himself.

 _“No,”_ Amy hisses. Jake guiltily nods.

“You were having a _sex_ dream?” she asks. “Indulge me.”

 _“Please_ don’t say ‘indulge me’, Amy,” Jake whines. “You can’t just wake someone up in the middle of _that kind_ of dream, and then tease them like that!”

“Oh, god, I just thought of something.” Amy says, panicked. “Was it sex with someone else?”

“‘Course not!” Jake retorts. “Our sex is _so_ good, why would I dream about anything else?”

“Come on, tell me!”

 

By now, the tips of Jake’s ears are red. He awoke hard, and this talk isn’t exactly helping. “You have to promise not to laugh, babe.”

“I won’t,” Amy responds candidly. “Was it _that_ kinky? Did we have dead-guy sex like you did with the M.E.?”

“Shut _up,”_ Jake shoots back. “It was just … something we’ve never done before.”

Amy suppresses a laugh and encourages him to keep talking.

“Fine,” Jake gives in. “We were at the precinct, with nobody around, and you were giving me head.”

“That’s not _new!”_ Amy remarks. “I’ve practically conditioned you to get hard every time I put my hair in a ponytail.”

“Shush, that was _one time_ after your period, and it never happened again. Do you want me to tell you or not?”

“Definitely,” says Amy. “If you don’t tell me about your dream, we can’t get to the _actual_ sex.”

“Oh, there’s going to be actual sex?” Jake cheekily asks.

“You can’t just wake your girlfriend up at six in the morning to talk about wet dreams, and then go back to bed!”

“Whatever you say, babe,” Jake replies, but he can’t wait until he’s done telling his story. _“Anyway,_ we thought we were alone, and I was getting oral, when some superior officer came over.”

“Nice.” Amy smirks.

“I was at my desk, sitting down, so you just hid under the desk and continued blowing me while the officer talked. It was _so hard,_ pun intended, to respond to the officer when your mouth was over me. You pulled back right when I was going to come, though, and that’s when I woke up.” Jake concludes, gazing at Amy.

“Sorry for waking you up,” Amy admits. “I can more than make up for it, though.” Her voice turns quiet and low, and she turns to pull Jake’s boxers off.

“How about we re-enact your dream, minus that pesky superior officer?” she suggests.

Jake nods, holding back a moan when her hands start roaming. His dick is already twitching under the covers, and she’s only exploring around his thighs and waist.

“Babe, you’re unfair,” he manages, before succumbing to a low moan. Amy only smiles, planting her lips to his neck while her hands toy with him.

“Go ahead, give me a hickey,” he whimpers. “It’s worth it.”

Jake’s capsized, he can’t think clearly anymore when feelings are crashing over him like tidal waves. Amy leaves her mark on his neck and turns to make Jake’s dream a little more realistic. He can’t stop moaning at this point (the neighbors _have_ complained about the noise), with Amy’s lips all over him, pinning his thighs back with her hands and using her talented mouth to do what she does best.

“Oh, fuck, Santiago, how 一 my god, you’re so 一 Christ, you, you just can’t 一 fuck, I一”

Amy releases him at the last second, before he comes, and there’s fire in his eyes; he can’t come and he can’t reach down to release some of the tension in his body with her careful gaze.

“Beg for it,” she taunts. _“Someone_ has to be your superior officer.”

In a lower voice, she adds, “Just say the safe word if you need.”

“No, no, I want this,” Jake manages. He’s flustered at this point, struggling on the brink of completion, and Amy has all the power in the world to _finish him_ or finish him.

“Please, Santiago, you’re so good at this, I need to come so bad, just let me, babe, let me, let me, I’ll do anything, anything, just 一 oh, fuck 一 let me.”

She lets him. He comes after she masterfully, ever so gently, draws out his curses with her tongue.

“Babe,” he pants. “I love fucking you. I mean, I fucking love you. Just … both.”

“Yeah?” she asks. “Prove it.”

He does, twice, with his head in between her legs and her hands grabbing at his hair in desperation.

* * *

Amy Santiago never thought she could bear to live with a boy again, after the nightmare of her childhood, but she can’t imagine going a day without Jake 一 his ministrations, his sleeptalking, anything and everything that keeps him the person she fell in love with.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! kudos/comments are lovely!!


End file.
